Vestiges of Chains
by Tamer Lorika
Summary: Arthur has always admired Alfred's strength, every moment. But America can be weak, as well, when tempted by a willing Englishman. Written in a fic exchange.


**This little baby was written for a fic exchange with Butterfish – holy crap, all of this writers' stuff is gorgeousgorgeousgorgeous, so PLEASE check it out. My prompt was to write a USUK, Arthur admiring Alfred's strength. I hope that all of you enjoy it; it's my first USUK and was a blast to write. As evinced by the fact I was doing this in English while we were supposed to be writing about clouds.**

**Also – sorry its early; I was just feeling like a busy little beaver this weekend (and studiously avoiding doing my research project) so please don't feel like you have to hurry!**

* * *

The edges of Arthur's vision began to blur and fade. He smiled as he slumped over the bar, knocking over an empty glass. It had taken him long enough. Thick, raw cotton filled his head, making it impossible to think. But that was the point, wasn't it? _To not have to think or feel…_ it was the last though that echoed in his mind before the blackness took him –

"Arthur! That's where you ran off to. Jesus, I take my eye off you for a few minutes and you go pass out on me!"

_Didn't need to follow me, git…_ Arthur thought fuzzily. He felt his consciousness very slowly creeping back as his brain was forced to work. _Bollocks! Bleeding American, ruining a perfectly good drunken stupor. I'd been working so hard on it, too – " _His mental tirade was rudely truncated and he let out a strangled moan as he felt his whole body shifted. His head throbbed and he thrust out clumsy hands to steady himself, but he found them pressing up against a soft, firm head, tangling in thin fabric – he had his hands fisted in Alfred's shirt, he realized suddenly. He was being held against his chest. He should be struggling by now. But he didn't want to.

He was being held, bridal style, as Alfred began to walk; wide, loping strides designed not to jar the body in his arms.

_He's strong_ , Arthur allowed himself to think. Underneath him, lean muscles shifted, gripping him effortlessly and keeping him above the ground. Arthur's cheek was pressed up again fabric and he could feel Alfred's ab muscles as well, every flex and expiration of his powerful lungs, every surging heartbeat that comforted Arthur to sleep at night.

Eyes tightly shut, Arthur could feel everything.

Phantom touches swirled in his mind, memories of nights recent and not-so-recent, when the strong body was laid bare beneath him, unconquerable muscles trembling with a single brush from Arthur's fingers. But they did not tremble now. They were hot, hot, solid, carrying their half-unconscious load through a dark and sleeping city. Never had Arthur felt so safe as he did when Alfred held him like this. The power around him would not fad. He could let down his guard and allow himself to feel like this because, here, no one could hurt him. No one but Alfred himself.

A smooth shift of weight and now Arthur was gathered in only one arm, braced tightly against Alfred's shoulder and soft, pulsing throat. He heard the jingle of keys and the click of a lock and the swing of a door and the let the smell of hit him.

"C'mon Iggy, you need to get to bed," Alfred murmured into his hair. His breath tickled Arthur's scalp and he shivered involuntarily. He was still being held in only one arm, which made Arthur shake harder. Alfred could break him so easily, so simply, why hadn't he? Not since that day in the rain… he had been treated so kindly, as if he were fragile. He _was_ fragile. Old and fragile and falling apart.

He was placed on a familiar, rumpled bed, and his shoes were removed. And then he heard Alfred turn to leave –

"Al…" he groaned, the word coming out coated in fluff and lint. His head throbbed in the faint light pooling in from the hallway – he had somehow managed to open his eyes. He grabbed at Al's wrist, missed, buried his fingers in his shirtsleeve. "Where're ya goin', git?"

Alfred just looked at him, a strange, tamped –down sort of expression in his eyes. "You should put on pajamas; at least take off your suit. Jesus, Artie, if you have a bad day, you shouldn't just run off after a meeting."

"…"

Oh, yeah. France had been being a pervert and then he'd gotten in a fight with Ireland and America had been too preoccupied with bitching at Russia to notice and by the end of it all, he had taken off to find a drink and that's how Alfred had found him.

Arthur sat slowly up, wincing a little, and began loosening his tie, undoing his buttons in what he hoped was a seductive way. After all, that body had been under his fingertips the whole way to Alfred's flat; now, he wanted it on _top_ of him. But Alfred turned around and tried to walk away again.

"Where are you going?"

Alfred half-turned, but wouldn't meet Arthur's unfocused gaze. "M'gonna sleep on the couch."

Arthur's shirt was gone, as were his socks; he was working on the pants now, still kneeling on the mattress.

"Why?"

"Iggy…" Alfred drew close to him, and Arthur couldn't suppress a shiver as Alfred's gaze swept across his bare body hungrily. "Iggy, you've had a bad day and you're drunk right now and even though I'm a hero its actually _really hard_ not to take advantage of you right now."

Oh, so the lad was afraid of force, now was he? Afraid of his own strength? Arhtur smirked. _Now_ they were getting somewhere.

"Alfred…" he kissed the nation's lips slowly, firmly, no trace of drunkenness or hesitation evident.

"No, nonononono…" Alfred mumbled, unconvincing. "Goodnight, love." The word were too British; the accent, too American.

"Alfred, you have my permission…" Arthur leaned back on his palms, spreading his knees in a way that left him thoroughly bare and vulnerable and laid out for the western nation. "You have my permission to take advantage of me as much as you want to."

Physically , Alfred's strength could not be matched. Mentally, however….

His wide hands gripped Arthur around the shoulder, the waist, jerking him up into his lap as he sat on the bed. Arthur pressed their lips together, shivering at the raw power underlying such a simple motion. More, more, he wanted more. He thrust his tongue past Alfred's lips, baiting him, and the lad didn't disappoint, immediately challenging Arthur even as he clutched him closer. The Brit put up a fight, but soon allowed the kiss to be dominated as he reached to undo Alfred's buttons.

"Nope, I got this." A smirk was evident in Alfred's voice and the arm slung around 'Arthur's shoulders immobilized him, trapping him as Alfred's free hand tore upen his dress shirt, popping buttons. And that motion alone made Arthur bite back a moan as smooth chestplainsvalleysmuscle was revealed. Now the boy was starting to get it, how turned on Arthur was by this display of power.

"Normally, I think that you are an insufferable git," Arthur murmured, tracing the dips of Alfred's heaving collarbone with the tip of a finger. "But I cannot deny that the moment that you try to dominate I completely lose resistance."

Alfred needed no more encouragement. With a growl that Arthur could feel reverberate in his own chest, Alfred shoved him on his back on to the mattress. One hand gripped both of Arthur's wrists, pinning them expertly above his head. His sharp teeth moved to nip at Arthur's lip, his jaw, a line down his neck, punctuated by short licks that creamed _possession¸_ screamed _minemineminemine_. The hand not immobilizing Arthur reached to ravage his bare chest, scraping his nails down sensitive flesh, twisting a single nipple in his fingers as his nips on Arthur's neck grew deeper and more demanding. Arthur gasped and arched his back at the onslaught of sensation, fiercely pleased when Alfred's grip on his wrists did not waver, even as he struggled.

"Arthur…" Alfred murmured. Lips gently brushing darkening bite-marks, half-affectionate, half-malicious. "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur, Arthur you are beautiful when your face is like this."

"Like wh- ah-" The question was meant to be snapped, but it petered out into a whine as Alfred ground their hips together forcefully.

"Absolutely begging me to fuck you."

Arthur groaned again as Alfred humped him, the American's pants still a barrier to skin-to-skin contact. The speed of his motions increased and Arthur clenched his fists.

"Arthur, shit, I want to take you so bad."

"Take…take off your pants," Arthur gasped. Alfred did, quickly, still sucking wounds onto Arthur's neck. His hands fished blindly along the beside table for a moment, retrieving a bottle of lube before gripping Arthur's shoulders and forcing him to roll onto his knees, ass in the air.

Arthur let out a gasp of surprise at being manhandled, the moment causing his erection to brush against the bed sheets as he felt slick, cool fingers slip between this legs.

"Bloody… ah…" Even Alfred's fingers were big, rougher than necessary in his haste and the pain was scathing and erratic, but, more than that, Arthur felt like he was being used, his whole body vulnerable to the whims of the strong nation above him and he loved it, he loved it with a dizzying affection because no one else was ever allowed to treat him like this because everyone else would break him. Alfred… might fill him up and tear him apart but after it was all over, he would not, could not ever break him.

Arthur rocked backwards, meeting the thrusts of Alfred's fingers, words dripping from his tongue like the saliva from his lips. "Alfred, put it in please, please, fuck me use me just do it _please -"_ and Alfred did not reply, just moaned into Arthur's neck before obeying, taking orders for once, pushing his tip against Arthur's half-stretched entrance, pressing forward despite the fact that Arthur was not ready, despite the fact that he was tight tight tight He fell forward, face in the mattress as Alfred did not wait, began to move, quickly, harshly, _sogood_. One of his broad hands was braced against the Brit's hips, controlling the movement, the pace. Arthur could not move a hand to touch his love, himself, or else he would be fucked into the mattress. It was perfect. It was _right_.

Faster, faster, in and out spots and white flashed intermittently, Alfred's name yelled out like a plea, Arthur's name buried in bitemarks on his shoulder and Arthur winced, crying out as he felt himself filled with head and oil. Alfred pulled out immediately and for a singe moment Arthur feared he would leave him, needy and filled like this, but Alfred reached out instead to use warm, calloused fingers to stroke him to completion. Arthur shuddered silently and the tension left him and he collapsed onto his stomach. A haze of contentment fogged his brain as he reached for the box of tissues he knew was by the bed. As soon as he was not sticky, he felt the strong arms he had been at the mercy of all night sneak around his waist and pull him into a tight embrace.

Arthur didn't want to, but he fought it anyway; he did what was expected of him.

"Gerroff me, you idiot," he muttered, but of course Alfred would not let him get away. Or maybe he just wasn't trying very hard to break free. "Why do you insist on doing this?"

Alfred laid his forehead against Arthur's a contented smile on his face. "Because. When I'm holding you, I feel like you're safe. I don't have to worry."

Arthur blushed, groused, looked away. "Don't say weird things."

Alfred's smile stayed in place, grew even. "But you feel safe, too, right? It's only times like these that you let your guard down."

A pause. A whisper. "It's because you are strong."

A chuckle, a kiss on the forehead. "I'm strong for you, babe. I stay strong for you."


End file.
